Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Staring at the Edge of a 45

Over two weeks ago I was lifting weights. I was in the middle of my second superset: from T-bar row to that bent-elbow-lift-straight-up-with-arms-out-to-the-side shoulder exercise, with a 45-pound plate. I rested the plate on a flat bench, and tried to grip the edge. It slipped off the bench towards the ground, where my right foot was lying. I saw the next second in slow-motion, which now makes me question my intelligence since I did not move my foot.

The plate descended vertically, meaning when it landed it's full force would hit one spot as opposed to being spread out evenly across its diameter. The "spot" was the top of my foot just under my second toe. The subsequent sequence of events were as follows:

  1. Excruciating pain
  2. Breath hold
  3. Release of endorphins
  4. Adrenaline rush
  5. Throbbing pain
  6. Limp away
  7. Embarrassment since the accident was seen by females on the treadmills
  8. Bruise
  9. Swelling
  10. Inability to move foot much
  11. Assumed breakage
  12. Wondering how I'd get around since I could barely walk on my leg
  13. Take pictures

An X-ray revealed no breakage, and hopefully by October I'll have full movement in all my toes.

Postscript: Days later I was bench pressing without a spotter with one plate on each side. I did one too many reps and couldn't lift the bar to the hooks. I rested it on my chest and tried again, unsuccessfully. I tilted the bar to the side to dump the plates, but it didn't work. My sternum was getting sore. Two girls saw my struggle and asked if I needed help. I made some form of groaning noise, and they came over to lift the bar off my chest. I think they were the same girls as on the treadmills. I may have to move apartment buildings now, or get facial reconstructive surgery. I'm thinking Iggy Pop.
Scary Iggy Pop